After Skip left, Holt drank a second cup of coffee and then turned on his cell phone. Most of the voice-mail messages were sympathetic. Gossip travels with lightning speed in small towns, and the facts were garbled just as fast. A couple of people heard Holt had been arrested. The next to last message was from Tony McDermott.
“This is McDermott returning your call from the other day. Sorry I stood you up for lunch, but I ran into Butch Clovis outside the courthouse. As soon as he knew why I was in town, he came clean about the Meredith investigation. He showed me video surveillance footage from the residence that corroborated a suicide. They kept the video under wraps to avoid a media request under the state or federal Freedom of Information Act. Looks like you’ll have to wait for another case to make your prosecutorial reputation.”
McDermott was right, but for all the wrong reasons. A newspaper was more likely to file an FOIA request to uncover his past than anything about Rex Meredith’s death. He called Angelina. She didn’t answer. Her photo was the only one he wanted to see on his phone.
Midmorning, Holt was sitting on his deck when a call came in from an unexpected source—Trish Carmichael. He let the phone vibrate until the call went to voice mail, then listened to it.
“I didn’t expect you to answer, and I understand why you don’t want to hear from me. But please, I have to talk to you.”
Holt had ridden the Trish Carmichael train to the end of the line, and instead of stopping at the station, it had careened over a cliff. He had no intention of talking to the deputy ever again.
A few minutes later Henry barked and ran over to the gate. Holt left the deck to see who’d driven up to the house. It was Angelina. She didn’t say anything when she got out of her car and walked up to the gate. Holt rested his hands on the fence.
“Don’t you have to be at the salon?” he asked as she approached.
“Holt,” she said.
The tender, kind way she spoke his name communicated everything he needed to hear.
“What do you know?” he asked, just to be sure.
“Skip came by the salon and told me. He was really torn up. How are you?”
“Numb all over.”
Angelina grabbed Holt’s hands in hers, pulled him close over the top of the fence, and kissed him.
“Can you feel that?” she asked when their lips parted.
“Yeah. But I’ve lost my job, which means—”
“You haven’t lost me. Holt, I’m not in love with a lawyer; I’m in love with a man.”
Holt glanced down at the ground.
“Did you hear what I said?” Angelina insisted.
“Yes.”
“Then open the gate so we can sit on your deck together.”
Three days later, Holt returned to Paxton from Atlanta. He told his parents first. His mother was shocked; his father was more upset about Holt losing his job. Holt wasn’t sure how the news would impact their relationship in the future. As bad as that was, he dreaded seeing Calico’s parents more.
He arrived midafternoon, about the same time he and Calico often ended up at the Morgan house. The three of them sat in the den where Holt and Calico shot pool for pennies and played video games. Calico’s mother cried buckets, which Holt understood. His father listened with his face set like flint. After Holt finished, their responses shocked him. Instead of being furious, they were relieved that Calico hadn’t been directly responsible for his death. They talked quietly for over an hour, mostly reminiscing about Calico. At several points they all cried and laughed. They forgave Holt, which brought the greatest flow of tears.
“Talking to you today makes me feel closer to Kenny,” Mrs. Morgan said, wiping her eyes.
“One last thing,” Holt said. “Because I lied to the state trooper, I could still be prosecuted if you ask the local DA to do it. And if I’m indicted, the state bar would begin the process of taking away my law license. I wouldn’t blame you if—”
Mr. Morgan put his hand on Holt’s shoulder.
“Wrong as it was, I know you did what made sense to you and for Kenny at the time. We’re not going to let anything bad happen to you now. But thank you for telling us the truth. We’ve all suffered enough.”
“He was my best friend—” Holt began.
“Yes.” Mrs. Morgan sniffled. “And he thought the world of you. We want you to succeed. Never look over your shoulder thinking we’re judging you, because we’re not.”
“Calico is why I became a lawyer and a prosecutor. Before we left the party at the lake, he told me that’s what he wanted to do. I’ve tried to honor his dream, but now—”
“You need to live your own life,” Mr. Morgan cut in. “Just continue to make it count for good.”
Shortly after taking his suitcase out of the car, Holt grabbed a basketball and attached a leash to Henry’s collar. The dog danced about Holt’s feet as they walked the few blocks to the church. Holt rolled a ball across the court, and the dog scampered after it. Thirty minutes later, Holt was taking a break from his workout when Bishop Pennington came out of the church.
“Thanks for taking care of Henry,” Holt said.
“You’re welcome. One morning I watched him stalk squirrels for an hour. He didn’t get one, but he’s on the mend.”
“Yeah, I can see it, too.”
Holt told the bishop about his trip to Atlanta. When he mentioned the words of Calico’s father about making his life count for good, the bishop nodded.
“I know one way that can happen,” he said. “I’d already been thinking about it, but I wasn’t sure when you’d be ready.”
“What is it? I don’t have a lot on my schedule right now.”
“I thought you could begin by telling your story to the youth group at the church. If a few young people listen to you and make a better choice in a similar circumstance, it would be invaluable. How about next Wednesday night at six thirty in the evening? I’ll introduce you, and you can take it from there.”
“Why so soon?”
“Fresh bread is always the best.”
“Okay, and I’d like to bring Angelina to church with me on Sunday. She wants to hear you preach.”
“Then I’ll try to do my best,” the bishop replied with a smile. “Seeing the two of you sitting next to each other in a pew should get me fired up.”
Holt looked up as a car turned into the parking lot. “Uh-oh,” he said to the bishop. “Did you set this up?”
“Yes. I called when I saw you shooting baskets. Give it at least five minutes. Do you want me to stay?”
“No, I’ll behave.”
Holt took a long drink of water as Trish’s car approached. She stopped near one of the goalposts and got out. She was wearing her uniform. Henry growled, and Holt picked him up.
“I’ll put Henry back on his leash,” Holt said as Trish approached.
“I usually get along with dogs,” Trish replied. “Sometimes better than I do with people.”
“I don’t want to take any chances.”
Holt snapped the leash on Henry’s collar and secured it to the goalpost. Henry tugged once, then lay down. Holt and Trish stood facing each other at the free throw line. He cradled the ball in his arm and waited.
“You were right about the bitterness in my heart,” she said. “And getting you fired didn’t help with that. I know it’s probably too early to ask, but is there any way you can forgive me for what I’ve done?”
After all Holt had been through during the past few days, he simply didn’t have the energy or desire to hold on to an offense.
“You got it,” he replied.
“I do?” Trish’s eyes opened wider. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I just got back from Atlanta. Calico’s parents let me off the hook. How can I leave you hanging?”
Holt told her what they said.
“I wish I was more like that,” Trish replied. “If I hadn’t—”
“Then I wouldn’t have gone to see them. I don’t know how all this is going to end up, but the bishop believes good can come from it. I want that for you, too.”
“I’m going to get a chance to make that happen this weekend. I’m taking my mother to the Jackson County CI to see the boy who hit their car.” Trish paused. “I’m going to talk to him, too.”
“When Calico’s parents forgave me—” Holt stopped. “You’ll just have to see for yourself.”
“What about Greg Stevens?” Trish asked. “He needs to answer for his crime. Where is his confession?”
“It doesn’t exist,” Holt replied. “I was wrong about that, too.”
Trish’s eyes opened wider.
“And don’t ask for details,” Holt added. “Focus on the kids who aren’t getting the support they deserve. That’s a lot more important.”
Holt took a shot that bounced off the front rim.
“Do you think you can do better?” he asked, tossing the ball to Trish.
She took a quick step back and launched a shot that rattled through the goal.
“Nice,” Holt said. “If you ever want to challenge me to a game of horse, I’m available.”
“Only if Angelina approves.”